


The Incredible Apprentice

by Izzy (Izzy_Dur)



Category: Incredibles (Pixar Movies)
Genre: POV Original Character, Redemption, Training, Underdog, gotta prove myself, superhero
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:34:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26444260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Izzy_Dur/pseuds/Izzy
Summary: "Uh... yeah. Okay, look, I know I’ve got a lot to prove but, c’mon... you’d get side-tracked too, right? Right?"
Kudos: 1





	The Incredible Apprentice

When Mr. Dicker pointed his gun at me, several embarrassing things happened: my heart leapt into my throat right alongside my adam’s apple, a tremor of panic knocked my knees together, and I’m pretty sure I might have accidentally farted—

“Okay, okay, I can see you’re dedicated to the bit, Rick,” sighed a voice behind me, but I couldn’t look back. I was too nervous, and I _knew_ that factually because when she placed a gloved hand on my shoulder I nearly jumped out of my skin. “Rick, look at this kid, he’s shaking and quivering... he looks like he’s about to be sick.”

That much was wholly true, and as if to prove her point, I swallowed the loudest I’ve ever swallowed; the sound rang quite nicely throughout the medium-sized office I had been stuffed inside all day. When was the last time I’d eaten? Around breakfast? Why did my stomach feel so hollow? What time was it even? Mr. Dicker didn’t believe in keeping a clock in his office, thought time moved slow enough without having to glance at it every ten seconds.

“I’m tellin’ ya, this kids got what it takes to be something great,” Mr. Dicker drawled in that monotone voice, and he flipped the safety on his gun.

Hearing that deadening click, I would swear a couple drops of piss managed to drip free before I tightened the hold on my bladder. The hand on my shoulder increased its grip, the forefinger tapping against my collarbone. As much as my stiff neck would allow, I looked up, beholding the glorious under-chin of one of the most famous Supers known as Elastigirl. More than having a loaded gun pointed at me, just having _her_ standing at my six was the major contributing factor to my case of nerves.

And for a number of reasons.

Reason one, this? This woman right here? This auburn-haired vixen who didn’t look her age at all? This was freaking Elastigirl. That’s right, _the_ Elastigirl. No, not some random person in an Elastigirl suit standing outside the mall to advertise some stupid sale, not some realistic cosplay paying homage, and certainly not some seedy, back alley street-walker who could make your wildest fantasies come true for the right amount of cash, but the _actual_ living, breathing Elastigirl. That was reason one.

Reason two, she was standing right… behind… me. Like, so close behind me that I could _feel_ her against me, even though her hand was the only thing physically touching me. Never, in my incredibly short thirteen years of life, never did I think that one day a Super of such magnitude, of such _prestige_ , would deign to stand next to my pitiful profile. Unworthy didn’t even begin to make sense of the inadequacy I was feeling; in comparison, I was like a little mustard seed next to this giant oak tree of a hero. The friction her hand had against me was the most positive physical contact I had ever had with someone of the opposite sex outside of a few awkward bumps in the packed hallways at school.

Reason three, now… well, in recent years, an initiative for Supers had begun as a way to show the disgruntled public that hey, would you look at that, Supers are _still_ useful, they _still_ save lives, and they _can_ keep a diminutive level of property damage across the board. Because apparently, that was the main issue, closely followed by several rather scummy sub-headers regarding the use of a Super’s powers, because many felt that people who had the power to see through walls, well, what was to stop them from turning into the next peeping tom, or spying on their own countryman? So, in an effort to appease a restless nation overcome with worry and Supers growing increasingly tired of being seen as burdensome, the government funded and began a new initiative, the Superhero Apprentice Program.

Reason three point five, it gave Supers an entirely new job, a new way to showcase themselves, and opened up multiple jobs around the country, fostering what many believed a greater understanding and cohesiveness for Supers both old and new. On paper, there was no way this could fail.

Unless you looked at me.

The S.A.P was the reason I was here right now. It was the reason why Elastigirl was even here when she could be off handling more important matters, as she had said no less than ten times in the past hour. And boy, I didn’t blame her. Truthfully, I wasn’t much. I already knew this; you could side-glance me or take your time and look me from head to toe and still not find a single thing to differentiate me from the next joker waiting for the chance to prove himself.

And, more than anything, I think that’s where Elastigirl’s exasperation stemmed from. Anyone who knew Elastigirl also knew she didn’t much care for the S.A.P, regardless of what they were trying to achieve. With the old villain contingency dying off, she felt the glory days of Super’s had long since passed. To her, life… just didn’t require Superhero’s like it used to. But even she couldn’t ignore the fact that many to this day were still being born with powers, powers both wonderful and horrific, powers of such magnitude that if left unchecked could quite possibly bring about the collapse of humanity.

Or, at least that’s how Mr. Dicker spun it to grease the wheel in convincing her. Not that he wasn’t _too_ far off the mark. While the villain contingency from her time was indeed dwindling, a much younger breed had risen, villains that lacked the same structural politeness of the old crew, who attacked without warning and committed crime without decency. These types, they didn’t bother with monologuing or making a big speech—hell, most times, they didn’t even have a reason or motive to spur their wanton destruction.

They just wanted to watch the world burn and know that it was by their own hands.

I don’t even remember how old I was when I discovered my power. Was I eight? Maybe nine. Either way, it’s such an innocuous ability that I can’t very well be blamed for not realizing when I had it sooner. Because it doesn’t really do much….

“Rick, c’mon.” Elastigirl’s voice from above had adopted a stern inflection, a clear sign that she was growing tired of Mr. Dicker’s games. She shifted her weight to one foot, and when she did, when she inadvertently bumped me with one of those child-rearing hips, I almost cried out. Good God, this woman was as soft as a pillow….

And she smelled so _good_ , like what the hell kind of perfume was she even wearing? It probably cost more than I would make in my lifetime.

Thinking about it logically, a bullet from Mr. Dicker would be favorable against having to spend even five more seconds standing next to this woman who obviously wasn’t aware of her own sex appeal. I mean, come _ooooooon_ , who wore a skin-tight red and black costume made of spandex—or whatever unobtainable material Edna Mode had crafted it from—with a figure like _that_? No one. None that I thought I’d be blessed enough to stand next to at any rate. I had seen photos of Elastigirl back before she got married and she’d had a pretty alluring body back then, too, but, man, I dunno… this was just ridiculous, how thick her thighs were, hugged into those leggings, and the width of her hips was enough to make any sane man clutch his heart. Maybe having three kids was the secret code to becoming thicker than a snicker _?_

She was so damn voluptuous that just being in the same room as her was staggeringly uncomfortable. For me, anyway. I was struggling to remember proper decorum when addressing her, which I had done exactly _zero_ times thus far… because every time I looked at her way I lost all function in my lips, the english language just flew out of my mind, I probably babbled worst than her youngest son, Jack-Jack.

“He’s not ready,” she clarified to some question Mr. Dicker had obviously asked that I’d missed, being so starstruck. “Now look, I know I said I’d be a part of this… this _program_ that you all are so gung-ho on, and I mean to give it an honest try, but that comes at the caveat of finding me someone to actually _apprentice_.”

Ouch.

Whoever said words could never hurt you in that stupid rhyme had quite clearly never been talked down to by their idol, because Elastigirl’s words cut so deeply that I blanched.

When Mr. Dicker smirked, it was the most oddest thing, because Mr. Dicker _never_ smirked. He didn’t smirk, smile, or grin. He had a face carved from marble, stoney and resolute. “Did you even read his file? The one I sent over?”

“No,” Elastigirl responded, shifting weight to her other foot and placing her other hand on my shoulder. She was essentially using me as a leaning stick at this point and I couldn’t have been more happier. If I amounted to nothing else for the rest of my sad life, the possibility of which was strong, then the memory of being Elastigirl’s personal pole would keep me warm. “I looked at his photo and all I could see was this scared teen who has absolutely no right jumping into the shoes of a Super. It’s what I saw then and it’s what I see now.” She leaned even further on me, to the point where her chest pressed itself against the back of my head. “I joined to make a difference, Rick, not to send kids into a battlefield.”

“You joined to get everyone else to shut-up bothering you,” Mr. Dicker corrected her, and, amazingly, when Elastigirl hunched a noncommittal shoulder, he smirked again. “And trust me, I’m just as concerned as you are, E. The S.A.P… it’s really just a front of recruit as many up-and-coming Supers as we possibly can, keep ‘em from goin’ sideways. Truthfully, I’m not proud of being connected to such a gambit but if I’m gonna be strong-armed….”

He closed one eye, making sure that when he pulled the trigger, his aim was perfect.

“Then the least I can do—that _we_ can do—is make sure the subjects are fully prepared, right?”

“If pigs to the slaughter they must be, might as well be fattened up and taken of, hm?” She sucked her teeth. “Dang it, Rick....”

Apparently, that logic was hard for Elastigirl to argue against, not that I was in any condition to choose a side. My breathing had picked up a couple notches, nothing but deep inhales and long exhales; I was struggling to keep conscious with Elastigirl pressing her bosom to my head, and her scent was powerful enough to overtake the corroding stench of cigarettes that previously cloaked Mr. Dicker’s office.

“Okay, kid, you’re gonna give a little demonstration for our friend here,” he told me, indicating with a nod at Elastigirl, who sighed and straightened up with one hand on her hip. “See, she doesn’t believe a whole lot in the system, and I don’t blame her. The system’s as crooked as a three dollar bill. So what I’m hopin’ is… what I _want_ to happen is, using you, I’m aimin’ to show this stubborn Super that hope can reside in the most unconvincing of places….”

Being a professional at receiving backhanded compliments, I took it in stride with a weak smile. I already knew I was unconvincing. Trust, I already knew it. I already knew I was just this scrawny kid who looked more at place sitting in the corner of his room talking to a swarm of imaginary friends than trying to step out and do something crazy like be a superhero.

I already knew that Elastigirl had written me off, and I couldn’t even get upset at her for it. She was only looking out for me, and if that meant hurting my feelings, better that than in a casket, right? Better to walk back home than be lowered into an early grave… right? It’s not like this right here, being _here_ and struggling to overcome my anxiety, it’s not like this was taking everything I had… to realize the echoing words of my parents telling me that I have a gift, that I had a responsibility to utilize it the best way I knew how.

“And, you know what… this is the best way I know….” The words fell from my lips without any conscious effort on my part, helpless and hoarse, and I looked up, right at the gun in Mr. Dicker’s hand. There was a lump in my throat, choking me from the inside out, working in tangent with the years of dredged up guilt to strangle me back down into who I was before I filled out that form…

The me I was less than a week ago.

I remembered standing in front of my bedroom mirror, trying to convince myself over and over again that I had _it_ , whatever it was that would get me far, help me crawl out of my shell and do some actual good. Practicing my power was a moot point, it wasn’t something I could activate on my own—and if I was honest, that was why I was inwardly afraid of it, because of what needed to happen to me for it to fully work. In this moment, as I watched Mr. Dicker put his finger on the trigger, as I felt Elastigirl tense in my shadow and make to grab me by the shoulder… it was only now that I realize the crippling fear my own power had over me.

The voices hissed from every dusty corner in the office:

_What if it doesn’t work?_

_What if nothing happens and he shoots you?_

_You’ll die._

_Horribly._

_Painfully._

_You’ll writhe on the floor crying for your mom._

_Bleeding out, fading into nothing, useless even in death—_

The bang didn’t frighten me, I was used to hearing noises that could potentially end my life,and I didn’t see the bullet until Elastigirl had already screamed, until my heart had died in my chest…

Until my power activated.


End file.
